A blog about my history project, a biography of an 18th century American woman who lived in and is buried in my town. I kind of think of her as my imaginary friend. Or my ghostly friend. Or a friendly ghost. Ghostly friend sounds better.

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Monday, May 23, 2011

Yea...Pretty Sure It's Me

Hi! Moving past the hospital episode - but not too much. My daughter has bronchitis/double ear infections and is slow in getting better and is spending a whole lot of time out of school. Let's hope first grade goes better than Kindergarden, as far as illnesses go, cause this sucks. No hospitalization, though, which is apparently my new standard.

Speaking of standards, I went to another child's birthday party yesterday. This one with people I kinda sorta like, though! So it wasn't complete strangers for an hour and a half. It was people I've known a few months for three hours. A wash. Nahh, just kidding.

But, here's the thing- there were no Emmys at this party. None. What the? None! And that is my new standard for judging children's birthday parties. *sigh* I'm predicting that until next April, every party is going to suck to some degree. And then Joey will turn 4 in April 2012 and then I'll get to be in the presence of three Emmys and I will once again enjoy a child's birthday party. Hang in there, Penny!

All in all, yesterday's party was fun. I'm just a whole bag of social awkward, is all. And there's one couple, friends of friends, who effin hate me. Hate me. And I can't help it, somehow, but every time I talk to them, try to be nice, I just make it effin worse. Worse! I stick my foot in it every time, which granted is not all that often (this year I've seen them at parties maybe three times). But our sons are the same age (almost exactly) and they'll be at school together starting in two years.

They say "Get Away from Me", I do the Nellie McKay stance.

I don't know. This is a fantastic album, though. For real.

Who knows. Maybe we'll move. I've kind of decided, though, that since I won't be able to do the traveling I want to do in life, I should make my home a kind of an oasis. And we've a ways to do that with this house. If I had $50,000 or so, I could do it all right away. But I don't, so I can't, so it's going to take some time. And this place (the actual place and not the people) is nice. We have a nice lot. It's a pretty street. We have a forest in the back yard. We have enough room in the house. A fireplace. A nice floor plan. Even the kitchen has a nice floor plan. It's not a historic house, by any means, but it's nice. It has the potential to be nice. So let's focus on that, then, shall we?

We shall! Another post all over the place. Let's summarize! 1. Still a sick house here. 2. I'm not good at parties. 2. These people hate me and I don't blame them. 3. As a solution, I'm going to focus on making my house my oasis. I should mention also I'm considering becoming a recluse. No more birthday parties then! You know, I always associate reclusiveness with hoarding, but if I avoid the hoarding, I think I could live with being a recluse. Need to think on this some.

No more Phebe stuff for another week - the days I'll have free this week will be spent in doctors' offices, at check-ups. At least it won't be the pediatrician. They have sucky magazines at the pediatrician. Ones that make me want to stab people. I should bring a book. OK, stopping now because I'm even more all over the place.

Until next time...

Oh, Update: I needed to feel better, so I started to think about my husband. Sometimes I get sad thinking about him, because he deserves better, but this time I remembered something he told me that makes me think we're a good match and which makes me smile.

So, there was some internet news the other day (it was a slow day, keep in mind) about Weird Al Yankovic and his trying to parody Lady Gaga and his getting initially shut down by her and then not and yay! Weird Al is going to parody Lady Gaga. Hubs and I were talking about it and he said "Man, that guy is a douche." And I said, "You think Weird Al is a douche? He's great! Come on!" "Dude, no he's not. I saw him once on the streets of Berkeley when I was at school there (note: 20 years ago) and he was walking down the street..." "Yea?" "I don't know. He was just kind of looking around, waiting for someone to recognize him." "Uhhhh..." "Douche."

Also, my husband probably did not say the word "Dude". That's more of a me thing. In fact, does he ever say "Dude"? No. Even though he's a Californian. Whereas in my family, at one point in the 80's, my dad specifically asked us not to call him "Dude" anymore. Just Dad, if you please. Awww. Another good memory. It's the little things, right? When I want to think about my dad in a happy light (or my family in general, really), I think of him in the 80's. The 90's sucked for my family. 80's it is then.

Update update: Just came across this on I Love Charts and it properly captures how I should try to handle "the couple who hates me" thing that happened yesterday. The top row is what I'm doing, and the bottom row is how, instead, I should be handling it. I shall endeavor to emulate the bottom row.

2 comments:

I am inclined to agree with you DD, but then I remember my husband's "Douche" assessment and am once again conflicted. The image of Al doing Gaga, with freaky bells on, is priceless though. Priceless and disturbing. Thanks.

About Me

I am at home with my two children, who are lovely btw, and have been at home for about 5 years. I'm an amateur writer and really really amateur historian. So please be gentle. I've published a chemistry thesis, though and co-authored several journal articles based on my chemistry research in graduate school. Oh, and also, please don't steal from me. Apparently, that's a problem on the interwebs. Thanks.